


Shut Up (You Miss Me)

by random_fandom_memorandum



Category: RWBY
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Kissing, Magic, Sailing, Tension, What have I written, god forgive me, i guess, mermaid au, nothing happens but there's implications, rating is m for the second chapter, resolved tension, smut writers of ao3 I salute you for your service
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 16:07:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29103042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/random_fandom_memorandum/pseuds/random_fandom_memorandum
Summary: Winter is from a family of merchants stretching back hundreds of years.Qrow is a merman with an eye for shiny things who follows her around on shipping runs.His continuous pranks aren't adorable at all. Or so she tells herself.
Relationships: Qrow Branwen/Winter Schnee
Comments: 6
Kudos: 22





	1. you're too full of pride

**Author's Note:**

> If you've read literally anything else I've written, you know that I'm a mega simp for song titles as fic titles. This one is from "Shut Up (You Miss Me)" by Doll Skin. Mega snowqrow vibes. The original working title was "Thank God That I'm Not You" by the Himalayas, but I thought this one worked better
> 
> Regarding the work itself:  
> \- I'm aware that in real life, nobody can sail a 40'+ ship by themselves. This is fanfiction set in a world with mermaids and magic. I have taken artistic license. Or something.  
> \- this was supposed to be a oneshot. now it's looking like a twoshot. sorry about that.

_It is a lovely day on the ocean and Qrow Branwen is a horrible person_ , Winter thinks as she pulls in the mainsheet. The sail tightens into a pale wing, the creases melting away as the wind fills it. 

_"It'll be a simple run, out and back,"_ Ironwood had told her. _"You'll be fine,"_ Jacques had told her. _"You'll do great, big sis,"_ Weiss had told her. They were sure everything would be fine. And so had she. But who was she to think that the damned merman who'd been plaguing her for months now would go away? 

Now she was stuck on here, on a boat, with Qrow following her and making her life hell. He never did anything serious, of course. That'd get him into serious trouble and she'd be able to go after him with no consequences. Instead, he did just enough to cause chaos. Sending waves over the gunwale. Pushing the rudder slightly to the right. And on one particularly miserable morning, she found him sitting on the anchor, grinning as she hauled it up out of the water hand over hand. _"Hey, Ice Queen."_ He'd given her that nickname a long time ago. She had no idea why. _"Nice morning, innit?"_ He'd winked at her too, before she shoved him back overboard. He hit the water with a splash. Before he swam off, he'd looked up at her and fucking _winked_. The audacity made her want to scream. She almost did. The temptation to get out the harpoon was strong, but she was stronger. Besides, he had already faded from her view. But she knew he'd be back soon. 

It has been almost a full day since she's seen him last. She's not worried, of course. That would be absurd. She doesn't care about him at all. She's just suspicious. With all this time, he's probably planning something big. So it's perfectly natural – to be expected, even! – that she's been thinking about him non-stop for hours at this point, analyzing every conversation that they've ever had. She's not obsessed or anything, just looking for clues about what he might be getting ready to do to her. This time, she thinks, it'll be life-changing, and not for the better.

It's nothing personal. She just has a job to do, and he happens to make it... entertaining? No, that's not the right word. _Difficult_ , she decides. He makes it difficult. She never looks forward to seeing what he'll do next. Or exchanging banter as she tries to navigate through impossibly small channels. How does he even manage to follow her anyway? Does he just swim underneath the ship? Or does he have some kind of weird tracking spell?

She knows that magic isn't exactly uncommon. Hell, her own family deals in enchanted items. But magic like that doesn't exist. Or if they were, she's never heard of it. Probably. She makes a mental note to research tracking magic later. 

Why does he even follow her anyway? 

And why is she so concerned about it? He hasn't hurt her. _Yet,_ she reminds herself. _He hasn't tried to kill you yet._

Winter clenches her fists, exasperated. He's always in her mind. Maybe he _is_ using magic to worm his way into her brain so she'll go insane and sink her ship, leaving him with tons of precious metals, magical weapons, and enchanted jewelry. Though that does raise the question of what he'd do with all of it. There are other mermaids – she sees them around all the time. But most of them avoid her out of fear of her family. None had ever been brave enough to talk to her, except Qrow. They _do_ have some form of a society underwater, not that any human's ever been able to go and see it. Would they have use for such things? After all, they don't exactly have forges underwater. 

Some mermaids are capable of shifting into a humanoid form for a few hours at a time. They retain their sharp canines, large eyes, flowing hair, and pointed ears. She's only seen them from a distance, walking unsteadily on unfamiliar legs through sketchy markets she would never dare visit. What they're buying, she doesn't know. Sometimes she hears of people from those markets going missing, lured into the sea to drown by a particularly enchanting mermaid. None of the reports are verified. 

Qrow hasn't done anything to her. Probably. The fact that he's on her mind all the time has everything to do with his twisted sense of humor and nothing to do with the possibility that she finds him attractive. Not that she finds him attractive or anything. Never mind that his eyes are the color of a sunset after a storm. Never mind that his hair is always perfectly tousled despite the fact that he lives underwater. Never mind that she's thought endlessly about what it would feel like to have those lips pressed on the skin just above her collarbone – he probably put those thoughts there with magic. Or something. Because that is not something she thinks about on a regular basis. That would be ridiculous. She's a Schnee – part of the greatest family of seafaring merchants to ever exist. She would never dare stoop so low as to be attracted to a merman. Much less Qrow. 

"I don't like him," she mutters to assure herself. 

_So why does it feel like a lie?_ her subconscious whispers back.

The wind shifts, and she adjusts her footing as the deck begins to tilt. It's almost at a perfect forty-five degree angle to her heading, which she verifies using her pocket compass. She pulls in the mainsheet some more, relying on the pulley system to do some of the work for her. Was it expensive? Yes. But now she doesn't have to carry a crew, which means she's free to go on dangerous, faster routes without worrying about their judgement – a huge boon.

Cleating the mainsheet in place, she then walks up the deck, being careful not to lose her footing. Pulling in the jib takes far less effort than the mainsail, even though the wind's been picking up. She's thankful for her gloves to keep the rope from shredding her palms as she handles the coarse lines.

With the sails adjusted, all she needs to do now is keep the ship going in a straight line. No small feat with the deep blue-green waves now taller than she is. Looking up at the sky reveals that dark clouds are gathering ahead of her. _Great_ , she thinks. The forecaster she'd checked with said he didn't see any storms between Atlas and Mistral, but obviously, that wasn't accurate anymore.

The sky dims by the minute. It's nothing she hasn't seen before, but it's still unnerving. That uneasy anticipation before the tempest is almost worse than the storm itself sometimes.

The tiller pushes back against her grasp, trying to twist with the waves battering it. It's a delicate balance - pushing hard enough to keep the ship straight against the pounding seas while releasing the pressure whenever the stern comes out of the water. Spray breaks over the gunwales and splashes in her face. The visibility is dropping fast. Hells, she can barely see a hundred yards past the bow. 

_Maybe he's trying to avoid the chaos up above,_ she thinks as the sun slides behind the clouds. The light fades rapidly from the sky. Fat raindrops splatter on the deck. It's going to be a long night. She locks the tiller in place and opens the hatch to the cargo hold. Inside, metal rattles in their holding cases. She double-checks all the latches because having magical items all over the hold in a storm would be disastrous, then retrieves the storm jib from its case. 

When she goes back above decks, a gust of wind hits her in the face. She narrows her eyes against the storm and slowly walks on the heaving deck towards the bow. Pulling down the jib is a difficult task in normal wind, but here, the wind threatens to rip the lines right out of her hands. Compared with the blues and greys all around her, the storm jib is a startling orange. Supposedly, it's so she can be rescued or spotted from a distance. But nobody's out here, three days from Atlas and two from Mistral in the middle of a storm. If something goes wrong, only she can save herself.

Reefing the mainsail is more difficult. A bigger sail means more resistance to anything and everything. Her gloves are a small comfort against the heat of the halyard sliding between her palms. She almost has it when she realizes she's directly pointed into the wind. 

_Oh no._

That means that the ship is gonna change directions. And the sail will switch sides. And she's standing right there in front of it, practically daring for it to whack her. She ducks.

Too slow.

She sees two things as she's knocked flat to the deck. First, the boom soaring over her head. Second, a flash of silver that looks an awful lot like Qrow. 

Before she passes out, she wonders if it's actually him.

* * *

When Winter wakes up, she realizes she's been moved belowdecks. She's curled up in her hammock with a blanket thrown over top of her. _How did I get here?_ she wonders. Every part of her is impossibly sore. Her left wrist is swollen. She must've sprained it in the fall. Flexing all her joints to make sure nothing's broken she sits up. It could be worse, she supposes. She's lucky it isn't.

"Hey, Ice Queen," an all-too-familiar voice says, and it seems her luck has run out.

_Oh hells no._

"You're finally awake." 

She turns around to see him sitting against the wall of the cabin, that obnoxiously – attractive? _No, just obnoxious_ \- smirk plastered across his face. His red eyes seem to dance in the light.

"Wait," she says. "You're in human form. You have legs."

"Not gonna thank me for saving your rich ass? And yes, you're very observant. I do, in fact, have legs," he says, gesturing to the limbs in question.

"You have pants." Why is she surprised by this? And where has her brain-to-mouth filter gone?

"You got a problem with that?"

She shakes her head slowly. "...No?" _Gods, why did I_ _phrase it as a question?_ It's not like she's ever thought about what he'd look like nude. She would never do that. Ever. 

He rolls his eyes like he knows _exactly_ what she's thinking. Maybe he can. That would be a disaster, so she tries to fill her mind with other, boring, non-Qrow thoughts, like supply inventories. So boring. So mundane. So unattractive. Completely normal.

"Well, you're welcome. I saw the sail stick thing about to hit you and jumped onto the deck, but I was too late to stop you from getting whacked. So I put you down here and managed the boat for you."

She hums. "First, it's called a boom. And thank you." Not words she ever thought she'd say to him. "How long was I out?"

"About a day, I think."

Then the realization hits her. "Wait, which heading did you take?"

For half a second, confusion flashes across his face. "Out of the storm?"

"Obviously. Which direction?"

"Uh, west-northwest? Is that a problem?" He almost looks concerned. But that's not possible, because he hates her guts. But then why would he help her at all? He probably has some ulterior motive. He is not nice, and she is determined to hate him. 

Winter needs to figure out what he's up to. "Yes, actually. I _was_ headed to Mistral to deliver all this cargo. _Time Sensitive_ cargo. And now we've been heading in the wrong direction for a day." 

She stands, her legs shaky. It's like the first time she went sailing, all over again. Not a feeling she likes. Qrow stands up a half second later. He's tall – taller than her. 

He raises one hand. "Alright, calm down. You'll be fine."

Is he _trying to comfort her_? The idea is so absurd she almost laughs out loud. _I almost died!_

"I have ocean magic, remember?" He holds out one hand and a tendril of water appears out of thin air, weaving between his fingers before he flicks his wrist and it dissolves into mist. "I can make you go faster so you get there on time."

"Why are you helping me?" She steps toward him. "Actually, don't need your help."

He raises an eyebrow. "Is it so surprising that I might actually be, hang on, a good person?"

She takes another step. He's half a head taller than she is, but she does her best to be intimidating anyway. The floor sways beneath them with the rolling of the waves. She can hear them lapping at the hull. "Yes, actually."

He cocks his head. "Oh? Do elaborate."

"Well," she says, voice rising in anger "You're really annoying and play pranks on me all the time. I have a JOB to do. And then you go away for a long time and then now you have the audacity to stand here on _my ship_ and be obnoxiously attractive."

Then, the realization of what she said hits her. 

_Oh._

_No._

Qrow tilts his head back and crosses his arms. "Is that so?"

He looks incredibly smug, and she will _not_ give him the pleasure of confirming that. Plus it's not true anyway. So it doesn't matter. "I meant aggravating." His smirk is infuriating. "Really, I did!"

"I'm sure you did, Ice Queen. But I just think it's funny that's a word you'd use to describe me at all."

"They sound similar?" She's grasping at straws, and he knows it. "I swear."

He nods condescendingly and her face heats. "Well, they start with the same letter."

"AGH!" Her hands clench into fists at her sides. Lucky for him, her sword's not at her hip. She doesn't know where it is, but she does know that if she had it, she'd be pressing the point against the bottom of his chin, forcing his head- Nope. She will _not_ continue that train of thought. No matter how tempting it is. "You bastard!"

He pretends to examine his nails. "Mhmm. But you're just gonna have to deal with my glorious presence for the next few days."

Out of sheer pent-up rage, she lunges forward, hand flat like she's going to slap him. But he's too fast and her hand slams into the hull. She hisses in pain, nails digging into the wood. _Would I have actually slapped him?_

Qrow runs a hand through his hair, then looks down his nose at her. 

Winter wants nothing more than to wipe that insufferable grin off his face. "I..." she trails off, not sure where she was going. Does she even want to know? Her subconscious seems to be betraying her at the worst possible times. 

Bereft of any other words, she puts her other palm flat against the wall on the other side of Qrow's neck. There's nowhere for him to go. Why is she even doing this? Why does her traitor brain think he's attractive? 

"What?" he asks, startling her out of her thoughts. 

"Huh?"

"You were gonna say something."

She narrows her eyes. "No, I wasn't."

"Yes, you were. You just trailed off and then got this dreamy look in your eyes. Thinking about me?" His voice has no right to be this pretty. None.

"Shut up."

"Make me."

Her heart pounds in her chest as she stands up on the tips of her toes to stare him dead in the eyes. "Fine."

She presses her lips to his.


	2. i hate that you're not mine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the number of tries it took to get this down the way I wanted it is ob-scene
> 
> pun gods, strike me down if you so desire, but i will not take it back
> 
> but like actually how the FUCK do people write smut because this was one of the most trying experiences i've ever had. i'm still mentally recovering from making two imaginary characters smooch while some of you are out there writing hardcore slash without batting an eye. mad respect. your jobs are difficult, and I salute you. thank you for creating content for free.

She can feel his heart pounding in his chest, pressed up against her own. Her palms are slick with sweat on the rough wood of the walls. Gods, even her knees are shaking. _How is he doing this to me?_ But the thought that maybe (just maybe!) she’s having a similar effect on him...

Now this wasn't really where she _thought_ this conversation would go, but she's not gonna complain, because this is pretty fucking wonderful and there's a distinct possibility that she wanted this anyway (and has for a while). Pressing herself up closer to him, relishing in every minute point of contact, she wonders why she didn't do this sooner. All that time wasted with pointless bickering when they could have been doing this instead. Hindsight, she supposes, is twenty-twenty.

Warmth pools in her stomach as he wraps his arms around her waist, pulling her in. Her entire body seems to blaze with heat where he touches her. 

Qrow runs one palm up her back, hiking her shirt up with it. The touch makes her shiver as he uses it to pull her in closer to him. She's too hot. She pulls one hand back, unbuttons her coat, and lets it slide to the floor. _Much better._ If she looked, she knows she'd see a flush spreading from her chest up her neck and onto her face.

She pulls back for half a second to see what effect it has on him. His pupils are blown wide, the irises reduced to thin rings of crimson. He's blushing a deep scarlet, not something she's ever seen before. But it's not a bad look on him, she thinks. _It almost even matches his eyes._ The tips of his ears are bright red too. She wonders if the flush extends over his full body. This isn't the first time she's entertained such a thought, but seeing it in person is something else entirely. And for once in all the time she's seen him, his hair actually looks disheveled. _It's a good look. Everything looks good on him,_ she thinks as she goes back in to kiss him again. _Though I do wonder how he'd look with nothing on..._

 _Later_ , she tells herself. She will continue that train of thought later. Though a small part of her hopes it won’t have to be imagined.

He's breathing heavily, chest heaving, but she's pretty sure it's not the fact that he's breathing air instead of water. She peels herself off of him and falls back onto the balls of her feet, the heels of her boots clicking softly on the wood floor. "Are you okay?" she asks, breathless. She reaches up and touches her lips. They feel swollen from the kissing. _How long has it been?_ Both calves burn from the strain of standing on tiptoe for so long. A few seconds? Minutes? _However long it was, it wasn't long enough_ , she decides.

Qrow nods slowly. "Yes, I'm fine. Just... surprised. In a good way." he adds. _Good._

"Me? Catch the great Qrow Branwen off-guard?" she asks, pretending to be surprised.

He glares in response. 

"Well, I finally managed to get you to shut up," she says, pleased with herself. 'Qrow' and 'speechless' are not two words that often get put together. And now that that thought has crossed her mind, another dozen follow. She wonders if she could do the opposite and make him _louder_. Further research is needed, she thinks. _What would he sound like, exactly?_

His nostrils flare in indignation for half a second before he regains what's left of his composure. A small part of her wants to make him lose it again. _And again and again until there’s nothing left._

"Interesting tactic you used," he says. "Not that I mind." He does that gods-cursed fucking wink _again_ and her train of thought completely derails. _Dammit._ She had hoped that he didn't know what kinds of things that did to her. The way it made her knees weak, stomach flutter, core heat. _Fucking hells._

"Well, it worked, didn't it?" she manages to squeak out, barely able to form words. 

Qrow narrows his eyes. "Think you can pull it off again?"

She steps back, putting her hands on her hips. "Is that a challenge?" she asks, trying to force her voice back down to a normal pitch.

He shrugs leisurely, like he has all the time in the world and wasn’t on the verge of begging her to kiss him. "I'd prefer to think of it as an invitation, but call it what you will."

"Challenge accepted,” she says.

Before she can move in again, he grabs her by one arm and spins the two of them around, pinning her to the wall. _Fuck._ He has no right to be this hot. None.

He's pressing her up against the bulkhead, pinning her wrists above her head with one arm. His eyes dance in what little of the afternoon light is coming through the portholes. "What was that you were saying about getting me to shut up? Because you certainly seem awfully quiet yourself." 

_Two can play this game, Branwen._

She doesn't respond, just arches her back so she can push up against his chest and kisses the spot above his collarbone. All the muscles in his chest immediately go rigid. _Good._ She smirks, then nips the spot, not breaking the skin.

It gets the exact reaction she was hoping for.

"Fuck," he gasps. His voice has dropped an octave or so, and _wow, hello,_ that _is something else._ The tales of sailors being lured out to sea by the songs of mermaids make a lot more sense now. If he asked, she'd probably do anything. Hell, she’d do most of those things without being asked. 

She pretends to contemplate the idea, as if it's not a question she already has (and has had for a while) an enthusiastic answer for. "Maybe later."

"So there will be a later?" 

She leans back up against the wall, taking advantage of the fact that he'd let go of her wrists briefly. "Depends," she says nonchalantly. _She_ definitely would like for there to be a later. And judging by the ravenous look in his eyes, he does too. Preferably now. "Right now I'm ambivalent, personally." Yes, she's lying through her teeth. No, she doesn't regret it.

Because his reaction is completely worth it. With one hand, he brushes his hair back out of his face. "Well, it didn't seem that way about five minutes ago when you had me pinned to the wall." She bites her lip. "Actually, I might have to change your nickname, Ice Queen. For someone who pretends to be cold and unfeeling–"

"I do not!"

He waves a hand and keeps talking. "You certainly move in quickly. Which almost makes me wonder if you already had feelings…"

"That's ridiculous," she says. "I would never!"

She totally would (and already has).

Qrow looks at her doubtfully. "Because everyone knows the most obvious sign you don't have feelings is trying to stick your tongue down their throat."

She raises her hand as if to retort, but lowers it. He has a point.

He nods, smug. "That's what I thought. So," he asks, dragging the word into _far_ more syllables than should be legal, "what do you think we should do now?"

"If you would do me the honor of recalling our conversation before you asked me to shut up–"

"How do you expect me to remember anything before that?"

She glares at him. "Well, _I_ have a ship to sail, and I'm supposed to arrive tomorrow, after we spent two days headed in the wrong direction."

"Well, I think waking up with me next to you should more than make up for it."

The thought is intriguing, but she pushes it away because she has things to get done. _That_ can wait for later.

"No matter how attractive you may be, that won't pay the bills."

He looks over his shoulder as if to an imaginary friend group. "She called me attractive!"

"Qrow, I'm serious."

"Fine," he says, putting on what she thinks is supposed to be a serious face. The effect is ruined by the rapidly blooming series of bruises up one side of his neck, but she appreciates the effort. 

She starts to walk towards the ladder to the deck, then turns back to face him. “Before you go above decks, you should probably take care of that first,” she says, gesturing to his shirt, which she’d taken the liberty of unbuttoning, and pants, which were already snug, but have _definitely_ gotten tighter. 

He opens his mouth to say something — ask her to help, perhaps? — but she’s already climbing up to the main deck. 

“Later,” she says, not sure if she’s talking to him or herself. 

She doesn’t need to look to know he’s rolling his eyes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jfc //i// wrote this. 
> 
> regrets in 3, 2, 1....

**Author's Note:**

> for reference, this is what it looks like to get hit with a boom. Respect it. Or get bonked. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eQDt1Xk74Mk 
> 
> List of things I procrastinated on using this  
> \- laundry  
> \- vacuuming  
> \- math homework  
> \- physics homework  
> \- english homework  
> \- sleeping


End file.
